


DR: Reunion - Patchwork

by rocknrollsparrow



Series: DR: Reunion [2]
Category: DR: Reunion, Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-13 08:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28775145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocknrollsparrow/pseuds/rocknrollsparrow
Summary: A collection of short stories and bonus content related to DR: Reunion. Some stories will contain spoilers, so please check individual chapter notes for warnings.
Series: DR: Reunion [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123082
Kudos: 6





	1. The Van

**Author's Note:**

> The opening notes of each chapter will specify spoilers, additional content warnings, relation to canon, and the author.
> 
> Spoilers: Chapter One  
> Additional Warnings: Homelessness, disordered eating  
> Relation: Canon adjacent, pre-story  
> Author: Sparrow

It smells of fabric softener. Safe, then. 

He runs his fingers along the blanket, searching for loose threads and sharp specks. There is nothing. He supposes that this is the best possible scenario. He’s found himself forced to get rid of so many blankets recently.  He folds the blanket neatly and tucks it underneath the passenger’s seat, on top of his case of musical scores. It’s still early, so he has time. Time to eat, time to enjoy the sunlight, time time time time.

He’s trembling. Maybe he doesn’t have the time after all. 

He digs his fingers into the carpet of the worn down van. There are black spots at the edges of his vision. Didn’t the doctor say something about him being dehydrated, or was that a bad dream? He doesn’t remember, and instead crawls over to the cup holder for his water bottle.

One sip, then two. The water is safe. It is always safe. But he’ll have to wash the bottle later to ensure that no mildew forms. He shudders at the very thought. Of course, this means venturing outside the van. He’s not excited.

It’s cold. He pulls his sweater tighter around his shoulders, hoping it will fix the problem. It does not work. It has never worked. He is not surprised. Even wrapping himself into a tiny ball isn’t keeping him warm enough these days. His hands drift towards the blanket he had just tucked away, but doesn’t pull it out. Instead, he allows his eyes to water.

The van is safe, but the world outside it is not. Once his vision is clear again, he sits on his knees and peers through the tinted windows, allowing him a better view of the library’s parking garage. There aren’t any cars parked nearby, allowing him to see all the way across the concrete desert. 

It’s time. He finds his boots and laces them, ensuring that they don’t touch the spots he sleeps in.

He counts to ten in his head, then opens the door, slipping out. He locks the door once he’s standing outside, and checks it three times to make sure that he hasn’t made a mistake. Water bottle in hand, he creeps across the parking garage to the stairwell, careful not to step on any of the painted lines on the way. The paint has made the ground uneven, and in some places, dangerous. What a nightmare.

The stairwell itself is narrow, and the lights above often threaten to fall on his head and crush him where he stands. However, it’s safer than trying the elevator, which is a thousand years old, and frequently gets stuck between floors. He takes deep breaths, curling his fingers into fists as he races up to the main floor. 

The library has only just opened. The staff is too busy greeting people at the front doors and turning on their ancient computers to notice him as he darts from the stairwell to the washroom. He ignores the piercing sensation in his chest as he cleans out his water bottle with a couple drops of liquid soap.

Not much longer. Not much longer. He prays that nobody will walk in and try to greet him. He’s not doing anything wrong, he knows this, but his heart won’t stop pounding. It’s just a water bottle. There are butterflies and paper cranes lodged in his rib cage. 

It will never be enough.  _ He  _ will never be enough.

The bottle is sanitized and then filled. With his mission complete, he races out of the washroom and back down the rickety stairwell before anyone can notice him. The parking garage is slightly fuller than when he left, but it’s fine. It’s still a straight sprint back to the van. The second he reaches it, slightly out of breath, he unlocks the door and flings himself inside.

Safe. Safe again. He can breathe in the van. He’s safe inside.

One. Two. Three. Four. He counts up in his head until his heart stops thumping. He’s had enough of an adventure for one day.

His phone buzzes from its secure spot in the back of the van. He jumps, landing in an awkward heap as his head hits the ceiling. Trying to brush off the pounding ache, he reaches for his phone to see what the deal is. An incoming text.

> [Junpei. Are we still meeting at 10?]

He presses his phone against his chest, vision swimming. He has to be there, he agreed to this, but the thought of showing up is making his head hurt more than hitting the ceiling did. He needs to reply, needs to confirm, needs to needs to  _ needs to. _

His hands are shaking. The knife in his lungs is twisting. What’s someone like him supposed to do? Maybe he should just disappear again. It’s not like anyone would come looking.

The phone buzzes again.

> [Please reply soon.]

He gags. Then, with unsteady hands, he types in a response. It’s riddled with typos, much like his very existence.

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want to leave the van.

* * *

Three days after he graduated high school, Junpei moved out. He’d been planning it for two and a half years, and had already secured an apartment in downtown Kobe when he left. It wasn’t the nicest building available, but it was affordable considering his current income.

The apartment itself was only one room, and a tight fit. It had been difficult, downsizing his possessions so that it was still possible to breathe in the room, but being in his own space was freeing. No looking over his shoulder constantly, and being able to eat whenever he was hungry. It was nice.

Junpei’s parents hadn’t so much as looked at him when he’d announced (or more accurately, mumbled) his intention to leave so suddenly. In the long run, it was better that way. They never called or visited after he left.

Not that he wanted them to do either of those things.

It seemed for a brief time that his life was improving. A good home, steady work, and nobody to loom behind him like an owl stalking its prey. 

Of course, everything went wrong. Everything  _ always _ went wrong. He was a beacon of bad luck, it seemed.

* * *

The restaurant is western. French specifically, he thinks, but he can’t be sure. Not that it really matters. He isn’t looking forward to eating right now, considering how fast his stomach is churning.

He can already see the man he’s meant to meet with. Even though the restaurant is quite busy, it’s not hard to pick him out. Besides, the cane sitting next to the table is a dead giveaway.

Junpei slinks across the carpeted dining room, prepared to dive out of the way if a server comes anywhere near him. He makes it to the table without incident, and slips into the slightly pushed out chair. His companion doesn’t look up from the menu.

Junpei takes a deep breath and studies the man sitting across from him. Hitoshi Akamaru is one of the people from his graduating class. In the three years since that ceremony, Hitoshi hasn’t changed much. Same dark hair, same plain white dress shirt, and same expression of exhaustion and resignation.

Like any reasonable person, Junpei had kept in contact with exactly zero of the people he attended high school with. It was much easier to forget about the uniquely traumatizing experience that was the public school system with no ties to it.

Of course, he’d still heard about them in the news. Making waves as actors, models, athletes, and more, it was actually difficult for him not to know about it. Not all news was good news; one of them had gone to prison only a couple months after graduation.

But Junpei had heard absolutely nothing about Hitoshi in the last few years. On one hand, it made sense; they’d both been reclusive during their school days. On the other, it did not reassure Junpei in any way shape or form that he was not about to be murdered.

Hitoshi suddenly puts the menu down, startling him. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

“Ghhrrk,” comes Junpei’s extremely intelligent and not even remotely embarrassing reply.

“Right,” Hitoshi says, as though that was a reasonable thing to hear. “I won’t waste your time. I’m investigating Handa Plaza, and I want to interview its former residents.”

Junpei blinks. “About… th-the apartment?”

Hitoshi quirks a brow. “What else would the interview be about?”

Junpei opens his mouth, then thinks better of his response and just shrugs. Even now, he’s still contacted by talk shows and magazines to do interviews about what he’s been composing since graduation. He’s declined every single one of them.  Until today, obviously. Something about having a familiar name attached to it made this interview very hard to turn down. Even though Hitoshi was never his friend, Junpei feels as if the man is some kind of anchor in the universe’s unfair ocean. He can count the conversations he’d had with Hitoshi before today on one hand, but he isn’t scary.

Not safe, but not scary. It’s enough right now.

“Have you looked at the menu?” Hitoshi asks, “I’d prefer to eat while we’re here.”

Junpei stares at his lap, digging his fingers into his pants. “...not hungry…” is all he manages to get out before his voice betrays him.

The restaurant is too much. The lights on the ceiling sear his skin, and the music playing from the speakers is filling his ears and overflowing onto the gaudy carpet. He needs to run. If he stays, he’ll drown.

The van. The van sits just outside the restaurant, pressed against the curb. He has to get back, has to escape before the roof caves in. He can’t breathe. There’s shards of glass in his mouth. Junpei wills himself to run, but his body won’t respond. Trying to move is painful. It’s as though pins are being shoved through every inch of skin he has.

He needs to get to the van. The water is rising. Needs needs  _ needs _ to escape. It’s up to his knees, his stomach, his neck. He’s trying trying  _ trying _ and he can’t bring himself to stand. It’s over his head. The world is gone, crumbled into dust and falling through his fingers. 

He’s floating. 

Hitoshi clears his throat, and all the water vanishes. “I’m not holding you hostage.”

Bit by bit, the world pieces itself back together. Junpei watches the fragments of glass become whole once more, as though nothing had ever been shattered at all. Was he ever in danger of drowning?

“I can d-do the interview…” he finally gets out. He isn’t sure if he means it.

Hitoshi stares at him flatly, then produces a notebook and pen. “If you’re sure. How long were you living at Handa Plaza?”

Junpei fidgets in his seat. One of the chair legs is too short, and he wobbles in place. “Two and a h-half years.”

Hitoshi writes this down. Junpei keeps his eyes trained on the pen’s movements. It’s grounding. It’s something else to think about. He can’t read Hitoshi’s handwriting.

“Why did you choose to move there?” comes the next question.

Junpei mumbles, “Cheap rent…”

And it was decently far enough away from his parents. For half a second, he allows his mind to wander towards them. Then, he shakes his head. He’s grown. He doesn’t need them. They’re not part of his life anymore.

Hitoshi waits, in case he has anything else to say, then asks, “And before the building was declared condemned, did you notice any issues in your unit?”

Junpei continues to fidget. “W-Well. The walls.”

Hitoshi looks confused, and gestures for him to continue.

“Mouldy…” Junpei finally gets out. He can feel it crawling up his throat. It sprouted in his chest and spread to his lungs, blooming in every crevice along the way. It’s suffocating. 

“I’ve heard from other residents that they reported similar issues, but nothing was done about it. Is the same true for you?” Hitoshi asks. Junpei nods, and he writes it down in the spiral notebook. “Where are you living now?”

When Junpei doesn’t answer, Hitoshi writes that down too.

“Have you received any financial compensation?” Hitoshi tries to meet his eyes, but Junpei looks away as he shakes his head.

His eyes land on the filled water glass to his left. He’s parched, but doesn’t dare touch it. The remnants of ice cubes float at the top, signalling the dangers as clear as day. Ice in restaurants is always a carrier of hepatitis.

Junpei glances at Hitoshi’s half-empty water glass, and tries not to think too hard about what it means for him.

“Hi there! Sorry for the delay, can I take your order?”

Junpei doesn’t even look at the server before sliding off his chair and huddling in a ball under the table. He thanks the long table cloth for shielding him.

“Oh dear, was it something I said?” the server asks. Her high pitched voice is grating.

Hitoshi says, “Don’t worry about it.”

It’s dark under the table. It’s almost like being in the van, but he’s much too close to the server’s neon green high heels, and Hitoshi’s dress shoes for comfort. While the two of them are distracted, Junpei crawls out the other side and sprints for the bathroom.

Blessedly, the first thing he notices once he’s inside is a large, open window. It’s a bit high off the ground, but that’s no issue for him. Junpei takes a deep breath and leaps off the floor, scrambling up the wall and out the window.

Once he’s outside, he runs for the van and doesn’t look back.

* * *

_ 6/16/XX _

> [Thank you for meeting me. You helped a lot.]
> 
> <sorry for running>
> 
> [I expected as much.]
> 
> [Do you want updates on my investigation?]
> 
> <sure>

_ 6/24/XX _

> [I have a few leads on the contractors. They should be able to provide some insight on why so many corners were cut during the building process.]
> 
> <that’s good>

_ 6/27/XX _

> [Contractors were a dead end. I’ll be looking through records at City Hall for the next few days. I might be able to get in touch with a financial backer.]
> 
> <good luck>

_ 7/2/XX _

> <how’s it going>
> 
> [Trying to arrange a meeting with Jirou Handa. He has a history of shady construction deals, and I’m hoping to expose the truth about Handa Plaza.]
> 
> <sounds scary>
> 
> [I’ve dealt with worse in the past.]
> 
> <even so>
> 
> <be safe>
> 
> [Of course.]

_ 7/7/XX _

> [Can we meet in person again?]
> 
> <not in public>
> 
> [That’s fine with me. Your place?]
> 
> <uh>
> 
> <okay>
> 
> <i guess>

* * *

“This is a van.”

Junpei rests his hand on the back door, hoping that it will qualm the sudden rush of anxious thoughts. Maybe it was a bad idea to invite Hitoshi here, to allow him into his one sanctuary. 

It’s a brilliantly sunny day, and he’s parked outside a Walmart in the middle of the Kita Ward. The library staff finally noticed his overnight parking, and forced him to move elsewhere. It’s too bad. He liked that garage, despite its constant threats.

“Take your shoes o-off,” is all Junpei says, before opening the door and climbing inside. He knows just the right position to be in so that his boots won’t touch the soft carpet, but Hitoshi certainly doesn’t. As he sits inside, his heart starts to pound more. Perhaps this was a bad idea.

After only a few moments of watching, though, Hitoshi takes off his shoes and climbs in after him. He only struggles a little bit, leaning on his cane. Once they’re both inside, Junpei closes the door and turns on one of the ceiling lights. It’s dimming, and their faces are cast into shadows.

They don’t speak. Junpei pulls his knees to his chest and rests his chin on top of them. Hitoshi looks around the van, eyes curious. It’s strangely intimate. He’s never let another person into the van before. It’s almost like being at a church confessional.

Even while curled up, it’s hard for Junpei not to accidentally brush against him. The van is really only meant for one. Allowing someone else into his home is terrifying. There must be judgement somewhere on Hitoshi’s face, but it’s just dark enough that he can’t say for sure.

“I didn’t know you were homeless,” Hitoshi says at last. His voice holds no ridicule or pity. It’s a weird comfort.

Junpei mumbles, “Surprise.”

Hitoshi says, “I’m working on the case. Most of the people living in Handa Plaza were on the verge of poverty before the building was closed. This is the proof we need to bring Jirou Handa to justice.”

Junpei doesn’t say anything, but manages to shrink into a smaller heap.

Hitoshi notices, and shifts himself so that they’re sitting side by side. “What’s the matter?”

He’s going to vomit, he thinks. He’s going to throw up and then the van will be contaminated, and then he’ll have nothing left at all.  Hitoshi rests a hand on his shoulder. Junpei only then realizes that he’s shaking like mad. They stay quiet for a long while, as he regulates his breathing.

Finally, Junpei whispers, “I don’t w-want to be… evidence. Or proof. I… I can’t…”

“Everyone’s said that so far,” Hitoshi responds. He takes his hand off Junpei’s shoulder and sighs. “Nobody wants to feel like they’re being pitied. But this vulnerability is necessary.”

Junpei has never felt more vulnerable in his life. “I can’t. I… It’ll h-happen again. I’m safe here.”

“Do you tell everyone that?” Hitoshi asks. It’s not laced with venom.

Junpei doesn’t look at him. He can’t bear to meet his gaze as he speaks. It stings. “You’re… the only… I’ve never…”

Hitoshi inhales softly. His voice is very quiet, as though he’s addressing a wounded animal. “Your friends don’t know?”

“...don’t have any…” Junpei struggles to get the words out.

“Do I not count?” Hitoshi asks. When Junpei shrugs, he says, “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have friends either.”

He doesn’t ask about family. A weak semblance of what could perhaps be a smile makes its way onto Junpei’s face.  They return to not speaking. However, hidden by shadows, their hands find each other, and Junpei latches onto his calloused fingers with an iron grip.

Above their heads, the light burns out.


	2. Coming Up for Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: Chapter Two  
> Additional Warnings: N/A  
> Relation: Pre-story  
> Author: Sparrow

On the day their brother leaves, the sun is bright and the air is crisp. Not atypical for March, and preferred over the rain in next week’s forecast, but still unwanted.

They watch from the studio’s front windows, as the last of his belongings are packed into the moving van. They watch him shake hands with the driver. Always ever so polite. They dig their fingers into the curtains, not wishing to stare, but unable to tear their eyes away, even with the light making it harder to see.

Four months shy of twenty and a recent graduate of the most prestigious school on this side of the Pacific Ocean, on top of being the most up and coming gothic fashion designer in the media, and they still feel wrong. Inadequate. Like they’re wearing the mask of the person who should be here instead. They suppose the rumours about their illegitimacy don’t help, especially since they’re  _ true. _

Their brother looks up at the studio from the street, likely to gaze at it one last time before moving on with the rest of his life — the same way they should be doing — and they frantically duck so that he doesn’t see them staring.

They crash into a box, rip the curtains, and hit the floor in a heap. Any other time, this would be a normal Tuesday morning, and he would chuckle lightly at them before helping them to their feet. Today, though, there is nothing and nobody but their downstairs neighbours, who somehow give less of a shit about them than their father.

“What the hell, Kaoru?” they mumble to themselves as they slam their eyes shut. Tears manage to slip through and run down their face, and they press their face to the floor. Their voice echoes around the too empty studio, bouncing around like a rubber ball. They rub their eyes, belatedly realizing that their glasses came off in the fall.

Once they can see properly, Kaoru looks around. They’re supposed to be spending the day making calls and setting up interviews with new potential models. That was what they wrote down in their hot pink day planner, that they can see sitting open from where they are lying on the floor.

They roll over onto their back and stare up at the ceiling, dyed blonde hair getting in their face. How are they supposed to get up with this weight on their shoulders? This ache in their chest? Kaoru tries to raise their voice, but it all comes out as a weak grumble.

Their brother, Seijirou, is gone and not coming back. Sure, there’s the promises of calls and emails and letters and messages in bottles, but it’s not enough. He’s still been swept away by a middle aged man with a greasy looking suit and a smile that doesn’t fit his face quite right.

So what if the old guy’s a famous designer? So what if he’s more prestigious than Kaoru themself could ever hope to be? So  _ what _ if going to work for him will finally advance Seijirou’s career again? It feels like there’s sand stuck in their throat, and they contemplate screaming.

...That’s only going to get the downstairs neighbour angry, though. They resist the urge to bellow, but a high-pitched whine slips from their lips nonetheless. Kaoru scratches the hardwood floor with their nails. They knew this was coming, and it still feels like a messed up dream. Like they’re lost in a parking lot at midnight.

_ (“This arrangement isn’t permanent,” Seijirou had said, flicking through the contract in front of him. “I move designers as trends change. This could only last a couple of months.” _

_ Kaoru, naive, had just laughed. “Duh! I mean, there’s always going to be an audience for goth fashion, since the rebellious nature of the subculture is so important to youth, especially those who are escaping unhealthy and controlling homes! But like, it’s not going to be as big for  too long, unless like, everyone in Harajuku changes how they— I’m talking too much!” _

_ Seijirou had smiled. It was sweet, serene, and definitely practiced. “I don’t mind.” _

_ “Are you sure?” Kaoru had asked, their head tilting to one side. “The last model I worked with got super choked anytime I went on for longer than three sentences, so I’ve been trying to prune myself down so that I don’t drive everyone bonkers! I just have so much going on in my head that it makes it hard to slow down for a second and think it all through! Like, how else am I going to get all this out? I can’t just write it down because my hands do NOT cooperate properly with— Ah!” _

_ “Why would I lie to you at our first meeting?” Seijirou had chuckled. He stopped looking through the contract in order to make eye contact with them. “Keep going. What was that about Harajuku?”) _

Kaoru sits back up, but feels their shoulders slump immediately. None of this is right. They shouldn’t be alone and they shouldn’t be sad and they shouldn’t shouldn’t shouldn’t be anything at all. It hasn’t even been an hour, and it feels like the end of the world.

Siblings. Not by blood, but by a common feeling of loss. Children from families that were never quite broken, but certainly cracked enough that they could slip through the ice. Brought together by chance, by the most welcome twist of fate in their life, and ripped away just as swiftly.

And they shouldn’t be jealous. They know that most of all. They should be so pleased, so excited to see what Seijirou does with his life after this point, should be glad that he’s moving on to greener pastures, should be overjoyed that he got such a big contract so young. And sure, they’re happy, but it’s not enough. Their joy and their melancholy coexist in the clanging, second hand washing machine that is their brain.

They know they’re acting like a child about it. If their father was here, he’d have already given them three different lectures.

Kaoru rubs their temples and takes a deep breath. It’s time to get up. It takes a couple tries; at first, they wobble so much that they collapse uselessly again. Getting to their feet takes time, and admittedly, they have to lean on the wall once they finally manage to stand without their knees immediately giving way.

The studio is still far too empty, as is their chest. But that’s not what they’re here to fix. Their job is to keep standing. It’s harder than it should be, just a bit, but they try not to focus on that. Kaoru traces the swirly designs on the wallpaper and slowly teeters over to where their planner is.

“You knew this was coming,” they murmur, picking it up and reading through the names and phone numbers they’ve spent the last week collecting. Knowing doesn’t make it any easier. Knowing doesn’t suddenly allow them to contact the models who are effectively replacing the most important person in their life.

Kaoru fumbles for their phone. Instead of typing one of the numbers in their planner, they select the first speed dial option and put it up to their ear.

Seijirou, blessedly, picks up after only one ring. “Hey, you. Figured this would be your sixteenth call, not your first.”

“I’m working on my impulse control!” Kaoru cries, instinctively pouting. “Hello to you too, you big jerk! Maybe I don’t miss you that much after all!”

He laughs melodically. Kaoru relaxes at the sound and brushes loose hair out of their face. Somehow, the sound is calming. Tension melts off their shoulders.

“I miss you too,” Seijirou says, a trace of loneliness in his voice. He must still be on the road, because they can hear traffic and crunching gravel on his end of the line. “It’s weird. I almost didn’t think this day would come.”

Kaoru asks, “Are you going to be okay?”

Seijirou says, “I should be the one asking you that.”

“I’m not the one packing up my entire life and moving six cities over!” Kaoru exclaims, “You’re going onto some crazy new path with a thousand strangers, rebranding your image and exploring new parts of the industry and creating connections and, and— And I’m just doing the same thing I’ve always done.”

“But it’s still different, isn’t it?” Seijirou replies, “And hard. Where are you going to find another model as competent as me?”

Kaoru says, “Oh, so you’re vain as ever! Here I was thinking that graduation had matured you!”

Seijirou chuckles. “What can I say? It comes with the job. And you know I’m right.”

Kaoru makes a fake gagging noise, and both of them fall into giggles. After a couple moments, they say, “I should let you go. You’ve probably got, like, a million things to do, and here I am tying up your phone!”

Seijirou says, “Nah, I’m just staring out the window for the next few hours.  _ You,  _ however, should be setting up some interviews.”

Kaoru bites their lip. “I know. You said it yourself, though! I’ll never find anyone anywhere near as good as you. What’s even the point if I know I’ll be disappointed with whoever shows up? You should just come back and I’ll rebrand as a mori designer.”

Seijirou laughs again. “The moving company would love that. And you’d be miserable. Things are rough on both our ends, but we’ll figure things out, won’t we?”

Kaoru sighs, looking down at the list of phone numbers in their planner again. “You’re spouting so much wisdom for a little brother.”

“I’m a  _ year _ younger than you! A year!” Seijirou protests. They’ve had this conversation a hundred times before, but it’s a relieving familiarity.

Kaoru says, “I’m going to hang up, okay? I have to try and make something happen. Even if it’ll be messy and ridiculous, it’s better than lying on the floor all day.”

“Have you been on the floor this whole time?” Seijirou asks. They can almost hear him raising an eyebrow over the phone.

Kaoru laughs. “No! You have no faith in me!”

Seijirou snorts. “I’m only being realistic. Anyways, if we don’t end the call, neither of us will ever shut up. I’ll send you a line when I get to Kobe, okay?”

“Okay,” Kaoru says, holding back tears, “See you, nerd.”

They hang up and take a few breaths before beginning to dial the first number on their list. Their stomach twists as they do so, but what choice do they have? It’s not about making everything picture perfect. Not about fixing the wound in their heart or the shredded curtains.

“Kaoru Nishiyama speaking. I’d like to get in contact with Rei Mishima? Yes, I can hold.”

It’s about getting back up. It’s about that first breath of air.


	3. Collectors and Collections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: Chapter Two  
> Additional Warnings: Terminal illness, character death  
> Relation: Pre-story  
> Author: Maggie

It was all too cliche, he knew. He’d watched enough teen romantic comedies to know the tropes, and colliding in the hallways between classes was only beat out for the most common one by “the leads fall in love.” If he’d had to guess how he’d meet someone who would irrevocably change his life, he would have tried to make up something more interesting. He would have guessed it would be a client of his. He would have involved a high speed car chase, because, why not?

If he were being honest with himself, he would have guessed he would have stolen something from that person.

Well, he would have been technically right about that.

If anything, he shouldn’t have been surprised. He only watched where he was going when he remembered to, and he was not yet the master of casing every hallway he was in. No, he strode ahead with the gangly confidence of a seventeen year old boy in skinny jeans.

Kai bumped into a boy quite a bit shorter than he was wearing a long coat and scarf, and without thinking slipped his hand into an exposed pocket and lifted the slim leather wallet out to hold in his palm.

“Oh! Sorry,” the boy murmured quietly. He looked up at Kai through dark, shaggy hair with a half amused expression despite his too-soft voice.

“Hey, no worries!” Kai replied with a full grin, and then he was gone, down the hallway as he’d intended.

He did not cast a look over his shoulder. If he had, he would have seen tired, long-lashed eyes looking back at him with an expression of unashamed curiosity. If he had, perhaps his own curiosity would have been sparked sooner. As it was, he kept his grin on his face and considered a stranger successfully duped.

“Who was that?” his friend asked, their eyes tracking down to his hand.

Kai shrugged, pulling the wallet out and looking to see if there was any identification. “Akihiko Fukino, I guess!” he replied brightly.

Yami rolled their eyes, but a laugh hid behind their voice as they asked, “Does he have anything good?”

Kai opened the wallet in search of money. He found some cash, as well as a slip of paper with some kind of note to self written on it. He showed as much to Yami, not allowing his face to show his disappointment.

“Who keeps cash?” he asked.

“Or handwritten notes?” continued Yami. “Who is this kid?”

“He’s got a card for a museum,” Kai replied helpfully.

“Ah,” Yami sighed. “So he’s a nerd.”

Kai nodded, and got in front of Yami so he could open the sliding door into their classroom. 

“Kinda cute, though,” he added.

* * *

Kai slurped his strawberry milk like a young man with absolutely nothing weighing down his conscience. Perhaps he was. It had been a week since he’d stolen a stranger’s wallet--though for the purposes of this tale, we’re only keeping tabs on one specific stranger--and it was not Kai’s style to remember specifically whom he had stolen from or what precisely he had taken. His relaxed pose and strawberry milk, however, was not a shield against Shizuku’s glare.

They’d only been in school for a few months together, but she already seemed to know him far too well. Her lips were formed into a tiny pout, and he knew that if he said nothing, she would say nothing to scold him. So he didn’t. He slurped.

Aimi had no such compunctions, however. She scooped up his extra milk with a little smile and sat across from him for only a moment before tipping her head to the side.

“Oh no! Shizuku-senpai! You’re, like, completely going to get wrinkles!” she said, as if she had no idea what she was doing.

“Nah, she moisturizes. She’s fine,” Kai said with half of a grin.

“You  _ will _ give me wrinkles,” she said sharply. “Return it.”

“Return huh?” he asked innocently, blinking at Shizuku. Aimi blinked at her too, mirroring the motion.

Shizuku frowned ever deeper, and turned away from him. The silent treatment was her favourite when she couldn’t get her way, and she was far too nice to actually tell him how she was feeling. Kai smiled, knowing the subject was dropped until someone else brought it up again.

* * *

He didn’t think about it again until he was spread out on the grassy field behind the school, trying quite badly to take a nap under a tree, when he heard a vaguely familiar voice. He did not open his eyes, as he was hoping that if he snored loudly enough the passerby would change directions and find some other place to talk.

“You could report it stolen,” said an unfamiliar voice. “You felt his hand in your pocket, bro.”

A softer voice, one that nagged at Kai’s memory, responded, “What did I do, exactly, to make you think I’m a snitch?” There was a pause, during which Kai couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows. “You want me to cry the tears of a snitch? ‘Boo hoo my wallet with 500 yen and my library card got stolen?’”

The unfamiliar voice snorted in response. “You’re a shitty curator if you don’t care if things get stolen.”

“Hope’s Peak thinks so,” the soft voice said, an edge of sarcasm in it.

The conversation devolved after a while, as it seemed that the rest of the group was keen on getting homework done during a free period. Their voices lowered to murmurs, and Kai was eventually able to take his nap.

He fell asleep wondering about that soft voice, wondering about the edges beneath it.

* * *

Kai tried to take Shizuku’s advice seriously. Stage fright was just the desire to impress and the fear of failure, she’d once told him. Conquering stage fright was a way to conquer any normal day anxiety. So he did what she did; closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

Akihiko Fukino was in his second year at Hope’s Peak, having been invited as the SHSL Museum Curator. One week ago, he’d “lost” his wallet. While he was quiet in crowds, his sense of humour tended to be on the biting, sarcastic side, if only in murmurs to his friends. This much Kai had learned from some eavesdropping and looking through the misplaced wallet.

And he looked straight, Kai reminded himself. So no hopes would be raised today, even if Kai wanted to be his friend.

He opened his eyes to approach Akihiko at the bus stop, and found that the shorter boy was looking at Kai already. He had dark eyes with long eyelashes that betrayed a sort of natural curiosity as he regarded Kai.

The two simply locked eyes for a moment as every word Kai had planned fled his head. Akihiko was shorter than Kai, but stockier, wrapped up in a long coat and scarf as he sat in the warm spring sun. He blinked at Kai. Kai blinked back.

“Hey,” Akihiko said.

It was enough to snap Kai back into reality, grasping at the fleeing words enough that he could speak.

“Hey, are you Fukino?” he asked.

Akihiko didn’t exactly smile, but his eyes squinted in what seemed to be a faint amusement.  “Who’s asking?”  


“Me,” Kai said. “Uh, Kai Yoruhisa. I’m the year below you, and I think I found your wallet,” he said, fixing a goofy smile to his face.

“Right!” the boy said, standing to face Kai more formally. “You picked my pocket the other day!”

Akihiko was smiling now, a gentle curve to his lips that somehow made him look tired. It was charming. Kai was charmed. He was getting nervous again.

“Mm, must’ve been someone else,” Kai said with a shrug.

“Someone else with blue hair and a shit eating grin?” Akihiko asked. “It’s possible, I suppose. In an ‘infinite universe, everything is possible’ sort of way. Are you gonna give it back?”

Kai fumbled for the wallet, pulling it out of his back pocket to return it. He held it out, and Akihiko took it, his soft fingers brushing against Kai’s for the briefest of seconds. Kai felt thoroughly ridiculous. He felt like he was acting out Pride and Prejudice, getting this worked up over a hand touch, in an alternate universe where Lizzy Bennett picked Mr. Darcy’s pocket.

It sounded like a good retelling of the story, and Kai was fully aware that he was focused more on this mental tangent than Akihiko looking through the wallet to ensure everything was in order.

He closed the wallet, nodding gently, before looking back up at Kai through his eyelashes.

“I was wondering,” Kai found himself saying.  _ This wasn’t in the plan!  _ “About your title.”

“Oh yeah?” Akihiko asked. “What about it?”

“I just don’t know much about it,” he said honestly. “But I like museums. You could tell me about it.”

“About museums?” Akihiko asked, his eyes squinting again and Kai knew he was being laughed at.

“Or whatever,” Kai said in a solid attempt at playing it cool.

Before Akihiko could reply, his eyes trailed behind Kai, looking off to the side. A bus rolled up behind Kai, noisily ending the conversation before Kai could blunder any further. Akihiko took a step back, preparing to board the bus.

“Sounds fun, Yoruhisa,” Akihiko said. He turned away, but paused before passing through the doors of the bus, looking over his shoulder. “By the way, I know you didn’t ask, but…” A grin grew on his face, not at all like the narrowed eyes or soft smile he’d had so far. “I’m gay. Just by the way. See you later.”

With that, he was gone.

Kai was doing a very bad job of not getting his hopes up. He took out his phone and began looking up florists nearby. If he was going to do this, he’d do it right.

* * *

“Look, nobody’s even paying attention,” Akihiko said.

His hands were deep in his jacket pockets, his eyes half lidded, and his smile unreadable. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. After all, his gaze flickered back and forth between the miniature porcelain horse and Kai’s face with equal affection.

“You’re paying attention,” Kai argued. “And there are cameras.”

“Fake,” Akihiko said in a sing-song voice. “They’re just to prevent this sort of thing from happening. But if nobody’s looking…”

Akihiko simply took the tiny horse in his hand, tossed it into the air, caught it, and stowed it in his pocket.

“There aren’t sensors or anything?” Kai asked, his eyebrows raised high.

“This isn’t Indiana Jones, you dope. Just take one.”

Kai licked his lips nervously before pausing in front of another porcelain miniature, this one in the shape of a chair.

“And if I get caught?” he asked. 

This type of caution wasn’t like him. But then again, stealing from museums wasn’t like him either. Being sticky fingered with jewelry and other people’s wallets was one thing, but museum heists seemed to be an entirely different calibre.

Akikiho didn’t seem to think so.

“Then you’ll be with the curator of this museum, on a date, and the guards will be so embarrassed that they stopped you that we’ll already be gone by the time we’re found,” Akihiko said. As he talked, he pointed out a gold spoon that had apparently been owned by royalty once. He raised his eyebrows at Kai.

“This is a date?” Kai asked, feigning innocence.

Akihiko paused, his brows coming together.

“I thought-- I didn’t mean to assume. I’m sorry,” he said, his voice lower than usual.

Kai grinned and stepped back over to him. With a confidence he did not truly possess, he tucked Akihiko’s hair behind his ear.

“I’m yanking your chain, babe. I asked you to come here with flowers. It’s not exactly the most heterosexual way to ask a bro to chill, is it?”

Akihiko caught his hand, touching it with more delicacy than he had the porcelain item. Kai fought back the blush that came with his heart racing.

“Rude,” Akihiko breathed, a laugh hiding under his word.

“Here, will this make it up to you?” Kai asked, reaching into his hoodie pocket and retrieving a tiny cameo with a portrait of a European lady in it.

Akihiko took it, nearly dropped it, and handed it back to Kai in a rush.

“The guard is gonna step into this room in about two minutes,” he said, snatching Kai’s hand and speed walking toward the next exhibit. He looked over his shoulder. “When did you even take that?”

Kai grinned, squeezing Akihiko’s hand. “When you were questioning our relationship status.”

Akihiko smiled back, and it took all of Kai’s self control not to gasp in awe.

* * *

Eventually, they left the museum for a coffee shop. Kai took out all of his prizes and set them out on the table, looking at them intently. There was such detail in each of them that he never could have seen in the clinical museum lighting. He brushed his finger across the back of the tiny horse, marveling in the smooth porcelain and the slight texture of the glazed paint.

“Where are you gonna keep them?” Akihiko asked over his cup of tea.

“Somewhere precious,” Kai asked. “Probably under my bed, so my mom doesn’t find them.”

“Is that where you keep all your ill begotten gains? With the magazines and hidden cigarettes, too?”

Kai laughed. “All my treasures have equal value to me. I’m like a magpie. I collect pretty things,” he explained.

Akihiko leaned back, still holding his tea, and regarded Kai and his newfound collection from afar. He seemed to be considering something, so Kai didn’t break the silence, merely leaning his head against his hand and watching Akihiko in return. Akihiko watched him, nodded, and closed his eyes.

“Alright,” Akihiko said simply.

“Alright?” Kai asked.

“I’ll be a part of your collection. It’s decided.”

* * *

Winter was the best for the two of them. The sparkling city in the snow, Christmas to spend with one another, time to meet each others’ parents. The big coats were a plus, too. Sometimes Kai would claim he’d forgotten his own, and Akihiko would be forced to throw his coat wide open, accepting Kai into his arms to prevent his skinny boyfriend from freezing to death.

More practically, it allowed them to take as much as they wanted from wherever they went. Akihiko knew the schedules of all the Tokyo museums. He knew which art he liked, which art would be missed, which art could never be traced. He delighted in telling Kai the miniscule details of each piece, and Kai found in himself an art lover.

He found himself to be another kind of lover, too.

He’d dated before, of course. He knew what he wanted and had known from early childhood that he’d never be able to blend in with the crowds. So he’d found the others that stuck out, and bonded with them. Sometimes their only bond was their difference from the rest of the world around them, and that bond was always going to be tenuous.

But Akihiko’s low voice and quiet laughter, his jokes and his jabs, the light behind his eyes when he talked…

Kai only bothered telling himself that he wouldn’t fall in love with Akihiko for about a month. That’s as long as he lasted.

By winter, all pretenses had faded. They spent all their time together, all their meals together. They knew each other’s pet peeves better than their own. Kai’s hands felt empty and cold unless Akihiko’s hands were in them.

He knew that they were too young, but he speculated about buying an engagement ring.

He speculated more about stealing one, just for the drama of it all, but he thought about buying one too. For authenticity.

* * *

It was summer when Akihiko got sick. It made the previous winter feel even sweeter.

Snow fell, creating a blanket of quiet outside the window. It was too early in the year for snow, Kai knew, but it was welcome nonetheless. The beeping inside the room did not benefit from the serenity outdoors, but the two could hold hands and look out at it.

“Do you remember the first time we got caught in the snow?” Akihiko asked. His voice sounded like ash in his throat. Something to do with the medication.

“I remember getting super excited about it and absolutely wiping out from slipping on ice. Is that what you mean?”

“I remember you jumping out of the bus like a puppy,” Akihiko said. As always, a laugh hid behind his words. “You were so excited to have that idyllic romantic snow day that you forgot your backpack on the bus. I had to bring it to you, and you’d already fallen.”

Kai squeezed his hand with a laugh.

“Yeah, I remember,” Kai said. “Why are you thinking about it?”

Akihiko’s pause was heavy. Kai refused to read into it. The two watched the falling snow together for long enough that Kai almost forgot that he’d even asked a question. Akihiko’s voice was almost a whisper when he finally answered.

“It’s just a good memory. I want you to remember it.”

“Of course I’ll remember it!” Kai said. “Hell, we’ll tell our kids about it. Or more likely nieces and nephews. Unless you want to adopt, I guess?”

“Do you remember that kiss?” Akihiko seemed to be talking to himself more than Kai, now. “Your nose was so unbelievably cold. I had to take my scarf and wrap it around your face.”

“You nearly smothered me,” Kai recalled. “Our kids, or nephews or whatever, are gonna be so grossed out if you tell them that part. We’ll be shriveled old people, they won’t be able to imagine old people kissing.”

“Kai…”

“I guess if we’re shriveled, this’ll be a story we’re telling to our grandkids, huh?” Kai asked. The tension in his throat was probably just because of the cold, he told himself. 

“You can tell them whenever you want,” Akihiko sighed. Something rattled in his breath. “Just make sure you remember.”

“You’re better at telling stories, anyway. You’ll tell them.”

Akihiko squeezed his hand. Kai decided to change tacks.

“My aunt and uncle are in town next month,” Kai said breezily.

“The ones that own the funeral home?” Akihiko did his best to pick up the new thread of conversation.

“Yep! I thought you might want to meet them. I tell them about you all the time. They think your historical preservation efforts are really interesting, and wanted to talk to you about that.”

“Next month?” Akihiko asked. His voice was getting weaker. The medicine for the evening was kicking in.

“Yeah, we can have dinner with them. We’ll make that curry that you taught me,” Kai pressed on.

Akihiko’s sigh was half a laugh. The silence that passed between them felt like an avalanche. The distance between Kai and his partner, his love, was immeasurable in that moment.

Akihiko took slow, even breaths.

“Akihiko?” Kai asked.

He stood up, leaning over him to look into his face. Akihiko’s long eyelashes rested on his cheeks. His breathing was shallow.

Kai glanced at the monitors. Akihiko was fine.

Just asleep.

Kai curled up in the chair next to him. He’d ask him about next month’s dinner plans when he woke up. When he was feeling better.

* * *

His things were on the bed. A painting, some miniatures, a ring, some very old coins, things like that. They’d filled a shoebox, and then overfilled it, and then overfilled two and then three.

Since they were on the bed, there was nowhere for him to sit but the floor.

That was where he sat.

His collection never felt complete. The jewelry had simply shifted to his desk, where it took up little room in his heart. If his bed was his magpie nest, it felt… Empty.

He knew what was missing.

It was summer.

Kai was alone.


End file.
